Chapter 395

The wind howled through the shattered remains of the captain’s cabin, carrying splinters, smoke, and the fading shimmer of the broken mana barrier. Ludger stepped forward, dragging one bleeding hand across the front of his shirt to clear the blood from his palm. The cuts stung. His fingers trembled. His forearms throbbed like cracked stone, but his voice rose loud and steady, cutting through the chaos with a sharp authority that froze every pirate still conscious.

“Surrender.”

Dozens of heads snapped toward him. The deck was littered with unconscious bodies, wounded beastmen, broken crates, and still-smoldering runic fragments. Ludger took another step, his boots crunching over shattered planks.

“If you surrender now,” he said, voice sharper, colder, “I’ll guarantee your lives.”

Silence stretched. Some pirates exchanged quick glances—fear battling with stubbornness in their eyes.

“But,” Ludger added, letting the word sink like a sinking stone, “if you fight…”

His gaze swept over them, steady and merciless.

“I’ll kill you myself.”

For a moment, it seemed like the threat might be enough. Some pirates shifted uncomfortably, gripping their weapons with shaking hands. Others looked toward the ruined cabin, where the berserk beastman had been launched like a ragdoll.

Then one pirate, a desperate one, snapped under the pressure.

“Fire! FIRE!”

Mana rifles snapped up.

A barrage of white-hot mana bolts streaked toward Ludger in a jagged line. He exhaled through his nose in annoyance rather than fear. His arm guards rose almost lazily, Earth Overdrive still anchoring his posture as the first volley slammed into the reinforced metal.

PING—TKCH—BOOM—

The impact sent sparks showering across the deck. Rifles overheated. A few misfired. Ludger didn’t flinch. He moved his right hand forward, fingers spreading, mana condensing in an instant. A single pulse. A sharp breath. A flick of intent.

TCHK—TCHK—TCHK—!

Three mana bullets fired from his fingertips like compressed spikes of energy and force. They zipped through the air faster than the pirates could react. Each one pierced a chest cleanly, through leather, cloth, skin, and heart.

The pirates who’d fired at him froze mid-breath. Then collapsed. Dead before they hit the deck.

Ludger lowered his smoking hand, blood from his earlier wounds dripping down his forearm. He looked over the remaining enemies with a gaze that made several of them visibly shudder.

“Anyone else,” he said slowly, clearly, “want to die today?”

No one moved. Weapons clattered onto the planks one after another, swords, rifles, daggers, even a runic cutlass with a chipped blade. The sound rolled over the deck like falling rain. Pirates dropped to their knees, arms raised high, eyes wide with terror.

One of them choked out, “We, we surrender!”

Another followed, voice trembling, “Please, don’t kill us!”

Within seconds, the entire deck was full of kneeling survivors, heads bowed, hands above their heads. Ludger exhaled, letting Rage Flow settle quietly in the back of his mind.

“Good,” he muttered, surveying the field. “Stay that way.”

The flagship was his now. And the storm outside had finally become silent enough for the next threat to reveal itself.

Ludger took in the deck, pirates kneeling, weapons scattered, the smell of burnt mana lingering in the air. The broken cabin at the far end still smoked faintly, splinters drifting down like ash. He exhaled and lifted one hand, preparing to shape a pillar of stone as a visual signal to the others. Something simple, an elevated spike of earth, large enough to be seen from a distance. A sign meaning: Flagship secured. Boarding safe. Hostiles surrendering.

But before he could finish the motion, a gust of wind descended from above.

Maurien arrived like a falcon dropping from the clouds. His cloak billowed, feet barely touching the air as pressure gathered beneath them. He hovered a heartbeat before gently landing on the ruined deck, boots tapping the wood without a single crack. His eyes swept the scene, slaughter, unconscious bodies, kneeling prisoners, splintered beams, and then settled on Ludger himself.

Ludger didn’t break stride. He raised his hands, mana flaring brown as earthen cuffs appeared on the deck, locking around each pirate’s wrists and ankles. The stone bindings were thick, rough, and impossible to break without serious mana, perfect for terrified, exhausted survivors. He moved with the precision of someone who had done this hundreds of times, each cuff forming in the blink of an eye, snapping closed with a muted clack.

Maurien let out a low, impressed whistle. “Looks like we’re late.”

Ludger didn’t look up. “Inform the others,” he said, voice flat. “Tell them to approach.”

Maurien nodded once, then launched himself upward again, riding a cushion of wind that rippled the air around him. Ludger continued binding the last of the pirates, ignoring the pain flaring with each movement of his fingers. His cracked palms left faint trails of blood on the stone, but the motions remained steady.

Half an hour passed before the deck grew noisy again.

Kaela and Renvar climbed aboard first, the latter loudly complaining about how

he

should’ve been the one to beat the boss. Kaela ignored him with practiced ease, her eyes taking in the damage with faint disbelief. Maurien returned soon after, gliding down with controlled grace. And finally Rathen and his underlings approached from the side ships, tired, wet from the ocean spray, but victorious.

His men were still tying up prisoners on the nearby pirate vessels, shouting orders, checking for runic traps, and securing loot. Rathen himself stepped onto the flagship slowly, boots crunching across the wreckage of the battle. His gaze traveled across the deck, the broken cabin, the splintered flooring, the shattered railing, and finally landed on Ludger, who stood near the mast, silent, arms hanging loosely at his sides.

Rathen opened his mouth, ready to say something sharp or sarcastic or incredulous. Something like “You took the flagship alone?” or perhaps “This is madness even for you.”

But then he saw Ludger’s hands. The red, swollen knuckles. The torn skin. The blood smeared down his forearms like war paint. The way his fingers twitched involuntarily, still trembling from trauma. Rathen closed his mouth.

Whatever he had planned to say, shock, praise, reprimand, it all died quietly on his tongue. His expression tightened, something between concern and reluctant respect. Ludger didn’t meet his eyes. He just flexed his fingers once, pain flashing through him, and muttered:

“Flagship taken. Prisoners secured.”

And the deck went silent for a moment, everyone registering both the victory… and the price he’d paid for it.

Rathen stepped closer, eyes lingering on the blood dripping from Ludger’s fingers. The boy’s hands looked barely functional—skin torn, joints swollen, knuckles cracked and bruised black beneath the dried red. Ludger didn’t flinch. Didn’t cradle his hands. Didn’t even breathe differently.

Rathen exhaled hard through his nose.

“…Why didn’t you heal yourself?” he asked, voice caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief.

Ludger finally looked up. “I used all my mana creating and hardening the handcuffs,” he said bluntly, as if that were the most natural explanation in the world. “Running low, so I prioritized containment.”

Rathen stared at him for three seconds straight. Then pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned toward his men, voice raised. “Bring mana potions. Not one, several

.

The strongest you can find.”

His men scrambled, muttering under their breaths.

Rathen let out a long, heavy sigh, the kind that came from seeing something deeply impressive and deeply unnerving at the same time. “You know,” he said quietly, “having someone as nonchalant about pain as you on the enemy side would be terrifying.”

Ludger shrugged with one shoulder. “Pain’s temporary. Gains are forever.”

“Not the point,” Rathen muttered.

Then he turned, raising his voice so it echoed across the deck. “Listen up!” he barked. “By Imperial maritime law, all pirates who formally surrender cannot be executed on sight. You will be taken into custody and given a fair trial.”

Murmurs spread among the kneeling prisoners, some relieved, some uncertain. Rathen raised a hand for silence.

“But,” he added, his tone sharpening like a blade drawn across stone, “the law says nothing about how lenient we must be during investigations. If you cooperate, you’ll live comfortably. If you don’t…”

He let the sentence hang ominously in the air. A few pirates swallowed loudly. Someone whimpered. Even the more hardened criminals shifted uncomfortably.

Rathen crossed his arms. “Now, where’s your leader?”

Silence.

Every single prisoner slowly turned their gaze toward Ludger. Rathen’s eyes followed theirs. Ludger lifted one tired, bloody hand and pointed toward the demolished captain’s cabin, nothing left but crushed beams, shattered railings, and splintered supports.

Rathen blinked. “…You killed him?”

Ludger’s voice was flat. “I didn’t. Not for sure.”

Rathen stared.

Ludger continued, without an ounce of embarrassment, “I certainly tried, though.”

A long silence followed, only broken by Renvar’s distant “Holy crap” and Kaela’s quiet snort of amusement.

Rathen rubbed his temples again. This was going to be one hell of a report.

Ludger sat on a half-splintered crate near the mast, tilting back a mana potion with one hand while the other hung limply in his lap. The liquid burned down his throat like hot metal before spreading into his limbs, refilling his reserves in sluggish waves. He grimaced, then rotated his wrists slowly. The pain was immediate and deep, but at least now it was pain he could fix.

He set the empty vial down beside the others and let healing mana seep through his hands. Bones realigned with soft cracks. Burst blood vessels cooled. Torn skin knitted together in slow, bright threads of greenish light. His palms would be tender for a day or two, but he’d used worse.

Around him, Rathen’s crew worked with mechanical urgency. Some men were stripping the enemy weapons, rifles, blades, runic artifacts, loading them into crates for evidence and resale. Others focused on clearing the demolished captain’s cabin, hauling out charred planks and shattered beams. Every time they pulled away another chunk of wreckage, the entire ship groaned, as if offended by its brutal treatment.

A shout came from inside the ruins.

“Captain! We’ve found something!”

Rathen strode forward, and Ludger followed at a slower pace, flexing his half-healed fingers. The rubble cleared enough for the scene to become visible: a crater of smashed wood and twisted metal, and in the center of it, embedded like someone had thrown a boulder through a house, lay the monkey-type beastman.

He was still alive. Barely.

His body was a ruin. Most of his limbs bent in angles they shouldn’t. His left arm crumpled like a broken branch. One leg twisted so badly that bone pressed against the skin. His torso rose and fell in uneven, painful breaths. His face was swollen on one side, the eye nearly closed, a dark bruise radiating across his cheekbone. The head trauma alone should’ve killed him.

Someone muttered, “How the hell is he breathing?”

Ludger crouched beside the wounded beastman, watching the slow, ragged rise of his chest. Up close, he could feel the berserker draught still burning faintly in the man’s veins, like a dying ember refusing to extinguish.

“Stubborn bastard,” Ludger muttered.

Maurien crossed his arms. “Let him die. He picked the wrong employer.”

Kaela raised a brow. “Or interrogate him while he’s half-conscious.”

Rathen said nothing, but his expression was twisted between practicality and caution.

Ludger sighed, not burdened, not sympathetic, just deeply annoyed at what duty demanded of him. “If he dies,” he said, “we get no information. And I’m pretty sure he knows things we need.”

He placed his palm on the beastman’s chest. Healing mana flowed out. Warm, steady, efficient.

Broken ribs snapped back into place. Muscles reformed. The fracture lines in his skull sealed with faint crackles. Ludger didn’t heal him fully, only enough to stabilize the vital damage and keep the man from dying in the next hour. Anything more would’ve been a waste of mana on a criminal.

The beastman groaned, eyes fluttering.

Ludger stood up, wiping blood and dust from his palms. “That should keep him alive.”

Maurien tilted his head. “You healed him?”

Ludger shrugged. “Just enough so he doesn’t die before we ask questions.”

Rathen exhaled slowly. “You’re cold, kid.”

Ludger didn’t disagree. And the beastman, alive against all odds, would soon wish he wasn’t.

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